Pieces
by Noely Diaz
Summary: People he knew and didn’t know had hugged and kissed him, Fleur’s drippy French relatives stared at him, stagewhispering: “C’est le garçon qui vivait!”, Mrs. Weasley had offered him food and drink and commented on how skinny he had become, but Harry felt


"**Pieces"**

"_**I tried to be perfect**_

_**But nothing was worth it**_

_**I don't believe it makes me real**_

_**I thought it'd be easy**_

_**But no one believes me**_

_**I meant all the things I said."**_

That day in late August was a perfect testament to summer's sadly beautiful descent into autumn. Summer was slowly fading over the horizon of memory, carried away by the odd breeze that would rustle the leaves on the trees, a harbinger of autumn to come. It was a time for remembering, a time for goodbyes but also a chance at renewal. It was ironic, Harry Potter mused, as he watched the sun set from his spot under the great weeping willow tree, that Bill and Fleur had chosen this time of year to get married.

He had been dreading this day all summer. He had tried his hardest to make himself appear to be too busy to attend, throwing himself into his search for the five remaining Horcruxes. Anybody would have known not to bother a man on a quest, a man who had lost himself, hell-bent on revenge. Harry shut himself in his cramped room in the Leaky Cauldron, pouring over book after book, not speaking to anyone for days. He refused to answer owls. Harry knew that eventually Ron and Hermione would catch up to him. He just hoped, however feebly, that they wouldn't.

They had knocked on his door a week before Bill and Fleur's wedding.

"I said no visitors, Tom!" Harry said irritably, halfway through a biography on Roland A. Bradshaw.

"Harry." A small voice said. Harry recognized Hermione Granger's voice in half a second. Her voice was worried, almost tearful. "Harry, it's us. Please let us in."

Harry froze. He hadn't seen his two best friends since his short visit to the Dursley's right after Dumbledore's funeral. They had waited patiently outside Number 4 Privet Drive, the good friends that they were, while Harry had quietly gathered his things without so much as a word of goodbye to the Dursleys. Bewildered, but not the least bit upset, Vernon Dursley poured himself a glass of brandy with a huge grin. Petunia Dursley lingered by the doorway for quite some time, staring out into the quickly darkening sky, not quite sure how to feel.

Ron had even invited Harry to live with his family in the Burrow. They had stood under the streetlight at the end of Privet Drive with Hermione, the light bouncing eerily off into the night, casting shadows on the asphalt.

"Mum and Dad wouldn't think twice about saying yes." Ron had said, his face alight with hope. "You could have Fred and George's old room. Hermione's staying for the summer—" Hermione nodded eagerly, "—we could help you…..me, Hermione….and….and Ginny." Ron added the last part unsurely.

Harry's cringed, as involuntary as it was painful. After a long silence, Harry took a deep breath. "I can't, Ron. You have to understand that—"

"Harry!" Hermione interrupted, sounding exasperated, "Harry, listen to us—"

"You too, Hermione." Harry continued, slightly louder than before, "I can't. I need to do this alone. I'm sorry."

And with one last long look at his best friends, _CRACK! _Harry was gone. He could've sworn he heard Hermione's voice calling after him as he hurtled through space, but it had only been an echo.

"**If you believe it's in my soul**

_**I'd say all the words that I know**_

_**Just to see if it would show**_

That I'm trying to let you know 

_**That I'm better off on my own."**_

He had told them that he needed to be alone, and now they were here again. Nobody ever listened to him.

"C'mon, Harry!" said the second voice, deeper, belonging to his best friend Ron Weasley. "Open up, mate. You can't do this forever!"

_I could if you'd let me!_ Harry grudgingly got to his feet and opened the door. Immediately, Hermione threw herself on him, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck. Harry took a step back, startled.

"Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you're all right! We'd sent you a million owls, we thought…..oh Harry!" Hermione was close to tears. When she finally let go, Ron hugged Harry awkwardly, as if he were hugging someone for the very first time and weren't sure how to do it.

"How've you been?" Ron asked. Hermione shot him a dark look, as if to tell him that this was the exact question _not_ to ask.

"Busy." Harry said shortly. "Been reading a lot."

"This place is very….nice!" Hermione blurted out nervously, "It's…erm…cozy. Comfortable." She smiled desperately.

Harry shrugged indifferently.

"Harry, listen," Ron began suddenly, after a long, awkward silence, "the reason we're here is that, well, Bill and Fleur's wedding's next week…" Ron faltered.

"And we're worried sick about you, Harry!" Hermione took over in her usual exasperated tone. "Everyone is. You haven't talked to anyone in ages, you don't answer our owls!"

"I've had a lot on my mind." Harry said to the floor.

"It's in a week, Harry." Hermione continued after another long, awkward silence, her tone gentle. " At The Burrow." Her expression confused Harry; was it fatigue? Worry? A mixture of both? Hermione touched Harry's arm. "Harry, look at me."

Harry looked up, the tender gesture catching him off guard, and Hermione caught his eye. At that moment, he realized: she knew exactly why he would rather be anywhere else but at that wedding. She knew, and for his sake, she wouldn't ever say it.

"Please say you'll come."

But this was Hermione Granger _pleading_. Even if just with her eyes, Hermione Granger never pleaded for anything.

Harry sighed heavily, running his hands through his overgrown black hair.

"I haven't got any dress robes."

--------

"_**This place is so empty,**_

_**My thoughts are so tempting,**_

_**I don't know how it got so bad**_

_**Sometimes it's so crazy,**_

_**That nothing can save me,**_

_**But it's the only thing that I have."**_

The Burrow, decorated in gossamer white and gold, had never looked so beautiful. Neither, Harry noticed with more pain than he had ever thought possible, had Ginny Weasley.

People he knew and didn't know had hugged and kissed him, Fleur's drippy French relatives stared at him, stage-whispering: "C'est le garçon qui vivait!", Mrs. Weasley had offered him food and drink and commented on how skinny he had become, but Harry felt like he was under water, and everyone's voices sounded distant and warbled.

He would look at her, and everything would go clear again.

She was sitting a few rows in front of him, Ron, and Hermione, between her mother and father, her long, red hair hanging loosely by her shoulders. She wore simple, but new pale gold dress robes.

Harry wrenched his gaze off Ginny and forced himself to focus forward on the little congregation of people under the billowing white canopy. Fleur, wearing ornate white dress robes and flowers in her hair, was beautiful in the forced, obvious way that she had always been. This seemed to be enough for Bill, who was grinning immensely in his black and white dress robes, and for the rest of the males in attendance, who couldn't take their eyes off her.

"Bill and Fleur, I now invite you to join hands and make your vows."

The happy couple joined hands and stared into each other's eyes. The congregation sighed accordingly. Harry studied the two of them quizzically, trying but not quite succeeding to grasp how this wedding was going on as if nothing were happening in the outside world. Did they think just because they loved each other, they were invincible?

"I, William Arthur Weasley,"

Several people around Harry began to sniffle, including Mrs. Weasley. Ginny put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"…take you, Fleur Aurelie Delacour, to be my wife,"

Ron took Hermione's hand, and she laid her head on his shoulder. Harry could see Lupin's arm around Tonks, whose hair was its normal Technicolor pink. Harry felt himself submerging again.

"…from this day forward; for better, for worse,"

He wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't look at her. He _would not_ look at her.

"…for richer, for poorer,"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw red hair float ever so slightly in the breeze. His eyes went to her before he could tell them not to, and she was absently running her fingers through her hair, and Harry didn't think he could look at her for much longer.

"…in sickness and in health,"

Harry would've done anything to change what had happened at that very moment, when Ginny Weasley suddenly whipped her head around and locked eyes with him. It sent Harry reeling, the intensity in those brown eyes, how close and how very far away she was all at the same time. They were a few feet apart and a million miles away, but their eyes stayed locked, and they spoke volumes.

"…to love and to cherish, 'till death do us part."

If there were more to the ceremony, if a minute or an hour or a million years had passed, Harry never would've noticed. But when he could finally pull himself away, Bill and Fleur were kissing for the first time as a married couple. There was clapping and cheering and a good deal of crying, but Harry had his gaze firmly planted on the hem of his borrowed dress robes, trying to figure out why he had agreed to come here in the first place.

---------------

"**If you believe it's in my soul**

_**I'd say all the words that I know**_

_**Just to see if it would show**_

That I'm trying to let you know 

_**That I'm better off on my own."**_

From under the willow tree, Harry could see the reception, which was in full swing underneath a big, billowing white tent that was pitched in the middle of the property. There was a foldout dance floor, a band singing songs only in French (despite much protest from the Weasley clan), and tables with white and gold centerpieces with happy people sitting around them. Orderly, perfect, color-coordinated, and paid for by the Delacour family—everyone was happy. Or, at least, it explained why the band refused to play any songs by Celestina Warbeck.

She had come to him, just as Harry had expected, when the wedding toasts were being made and slipping away unnoticed was no feat. She stood over him, resolute, her eyes boring into his. Ginny Weasley had a way of getting people to look her in the eye, even if they didn't want to. _Especially_ if they didn't want to.

"I'm not going to tiptoe around you."

Ginny was unwavering. Harry had the resolve of a piece of parchment.

"I'm not going to, because Ron and Hermione and everyone else are, and you need someone to treat you like you're still alive, Harry. Like you're still you."

Harry averted his gaze, trying to look very interested in a protruding willow tree root. Ginny let out an exasperated noise quite reminiscent of Hermione, which made Harry wonder vaguely how much time they were spending with each other.

"Look at yourself, Harry! Do _you_ even know who you are anymore?"

"Of course I do." Harry replied too quickly.

"But do you really?" She snapped his eyes back to hers, and for a moment she just stared, her eyes alight with angry fire. But when Ginny spoke again, all the venom was gone from her voice. "Because the Harry Potter I knew wouldn't dig himself a hole he couldn't get out of." Her words were hollow, lifeless, and it scared Harry. She turned her back to him and took a long, shuddering breath. "Or didn't want to get out of."

Harry stood up, brushing himself off. He took two tentative steps towards Ginny, looking as if he were under the Imperius Curse and willing with all of his might for his legs not to move. He would give all the Galleons in the world not to love her as much as he did.

But Harry gave in and moved close to Ginny, putting a hand on her shoulder. Ginny placed her hand on his, and Harry could feel her sobbing silently.

"_**I tried to be perfect,**_

_**It just wasn't worth it**_

_**Nothing could ever be so wrong,**_

"Gin…" Harry began.

"I'm being a prat." Ginny sniffed, and turned to face Harry, "I'm sorry. You're the last person who needs this right now."

"You're the last person who needs me right now."

Harry had never seen Ginny look fragile like she did that very moment, like she would break into a thousand pieces if Harry touched her. What was happening to his world?

"I don't think you even know how untrue that is."

_**It's hard to believe me,**_

_**It never gets easy**_

_**I guess I knew that all along."**_

"I probably don't." Harry admitted with a sigh.

And they stood there in silence, their hands touching and their minds racing. Harry knew anybody could be watching them; anybody at this wedding could be under the Imperius Curse and reporting straight to Voldemort. But as nonsensical as these things were, with Ginny so close to him, Harry felt safe.

-------------------------------------

_**If you believe it's in my soul,**_

_**I'd say all the words that I know**_

_**Just to see if it would show,**_

_**That I'm trying to let you know**_

_**That I'm better off on my own."**_


End file.
